


In Your Arms

by adventageous (illeit)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-29 18:58:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12091341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illeit/pseuds/adventageous
Summary: Not every day is a struggle for your life. Sometimes its a struggle to stay awake and sometimes the cure is a little more fun than you anticipated.





	In Your Arms

     "No, I don't think you  _understand_. The whole concept of time travel isn't just some crackpot's theory, Lance. It actually  _could_ be do-able with the right tech. The Alteans might have come across it if most of their race hadn't been destroyed." The drone of Pidge's incessant ramblings about theories and possibilities which had long ago caught her interest served only to bore and confuse the crowd scattered at intervals around the command center of the ship save for a few peaked interests.

     While not actively taking part, Allura's elven ears twitched curiously in her direction, a subdued and affectionate smile curving glossed lips. There was offense less-taken by the callous mention of her people's demise in the knowledge that when she hyper-focused on a fascinating subject there was no filter to her words and truth be told, it was one of the many quirks she loved most about the young Paladin. No matter what her focus lay on that day or the next, Pidge-  _Katie_ 's boundless energy was both fascinating and exhausting to endure and no matter how much input she had to offer on the matter, a revelation perhaps that her people had been closer to figuring it out than any of them had thought if they had  **wanted** to travel back in time or forward for that matter, Allura understood that fanning a fire was not the best course of action if one didn't want to get burned and so she listened passively.

     Coran on the other hand chirped in with sounds of approval and disapproval as the girl conversed with someone less capable of understanding the relativity of time and space and the infinitely finite possibilities it all held, assisting her in directing her facts and theories and calculations towards the results of the Altean 'scientists' as Hunk had called them. Much like their alchemists? Or were they...physicalsists? No, that wasn't right. What was it again? Should he interrupt space-time talk to ask?

     Beneath the outward groan Lance responded with in kind, his gentle clearing of his throat was lost, succeeded by the entrance of Hunk and he knew all hope was lost. The subject flickered out of existence the moment the scent of dinner wafted through the cabin and while Hunk  _normally_ smelled like food, the strength of it could only mean one thing. He'd been  **cooking**. As usual. A sour note still for the ginger Altean, but he knew when to concede defeat and Hunk had most certainly bested him in the kitchen. It was  _his_ duty now to cook the meals.

      Sure enough his suspicions proved true as the bulk of a man stepped aside to reveal his masterpiece of absolutely tantalizing dishes the likes of which set one's mouth to watering upon sight. Even if there were some limbs still wriggling around in that bowl to the left.

     Though with the promise of food, Pidge did not relent, scoffing at the weak response received from such a compelling idea. Who  _wouldn't_ want to travel back in time and stop themselves from doing something embarrassing, or stop the first war, or the assassination of a president or... ** _the loss of one's family_**? For one, she wouldn't mind seeing what the world was really like rather than relying on the foggy memory of some dusty old fat man seated in his rocking chair filling in the blanks his failing memory hadn't the capacity to recall.

     "Don't groan at  _me_. This subject has been the most talked about between the world's most brilliant minds for decades. We all know  _obviously_ that the rate at which you move through space determines the speed at which you move through time, and it was once suggested that if you build a rocket that could provide a constant acceleration of 1g, you could actually reach the center of the Milky Way galaxy in just a couple of decades! Of course engineers hadn't figured out  _how_ exactly to build a rocket like **that** but here's where it gets even more amazing!" Wide honey eyes glistened as Pidge leaned forward in her seat, absently accepting the bowl of alien foods as Hunk distributed it by relevance of proximity.

     Shiro, however, had seemingly blocked out the subject entirely, gaze trained on the slow passage of stars as the ship trudged onward through space, awaiting the next call for help or the blindsiding attack from a Galra ship. Keith, ever at his side, silent and brooding with arms folded neatly in the folds of his jacket. Both of whom denied Hunk's famous eats, claiming they weren't exactly hungry yet. Nothing out of the usual. He'd figured as much and taken it upon himself to lower the portion sizes for them, the two being the only ones who seemed to eat one meal a day at best (Shiro sometimes not at all despite his best prodding).

     As he ambled away with a pretend air of offense, the Black Paladin turned towards his younger companion and chuckled.

     "You want to escape this conversation before we're forced to take part?" The relief that flooded Keith's face was almost palpable, thin brows knitting in thankful reprieve of his usual scowl.

     "I thought you'd never ask. Lead the way." A subtle joke Shiro caught on it's tail end as he turned to do just that, pausing oh so briefly to give the cadet a sly grin, a dark brow of his own lifted in curious amusement. The moment didn't last long, he could feel the inevitable barrage of 'what do  _you_ think' and 'wouldn't  **you** like to go back in time and'. He'd rather avoid delving into that minefield before it set off. The less personal he got, the easier it was taking lead. Making tough decisions.

     Thankfully no one questioned their sneaking off, likely envying how easily they'd dodged a bullet, and the hallways provided sweet silence as they wandered towards the barracks. Were they even called barracks before? Were these accommodations normal for Altean guests? The subject had never been broached before. Just a quiet acceptance at the stark rooms given to them to make their own. No shelves, no decorations. It would have seemed gloomy if Keith were the type to put attachments to possessions and 'homey' trinkets. The less clutter in his room, the better.

     There's a million things Keith loves about the silence of the corridors. Free thinking being one of them. When he's  _alone_. At Shiro's side, however, and the sync of their steps paced evenly with one another (more effort on  **someone's** part ahem), the sound of the sleeves of his jacket swishing back and forth, the thrumming of his heart in his ears  _still_. It had been weeks, months, **years** , who knows precisely  **how long** since he rescued...okay  ** _they_** rescued Shiro from the government containment facility and began their lives as Defenders of The Universe and still there's this nervous fluttering in his gut, a jittery beat to his heart whenever he's near. It's the one thing he  **hated**. Normality left him the moment those stunning slate eyes found him.

     "Coming to my room?" What a question. Why did he even have to ask? He practically  _lived_ there now, adopted the natural musk exuded by the older Paladin, buried himself so far under that skin it would destroy  **both** of them to dig him out. He didn't need to answer, and Shiro didn't expect one in return, a heavy hand slid behind the high of Keith's collar, pressing gentle memories of bare skin into a willing mind. What he wouldn't give to be at-

     "Keith, you can stop walking buddy. We're here." Dark lashes fluttered open as the Red Paladin stumbled, whirling at the absence of a warm body brushing against his with every step and- oh. He's several feet ahead where Shiro was waiting with the door to his bunk open, honed body leaned against the framing to keep it from shutting. Arms crossed, powerful legs hooked one ankle over the other. His mouth watered and Shiro's smile widened in understanding, chin jutted in welcome towards the empty room.

     "C'mon. I'll give you a tour." Humor. Ha. It suited him. Like all other things tended to. Keith followed willingly, heart thundering despite the thousands of other times he passed through the same door, inhaled the distinct scent of metal with an undertone of Shiro's specific chemistry morphing what little cologne he  _did_ wear into something dark and heady and absolutely  **mouth watering**. Not unlike the thousands of times before, he inhaled a lung full, gaze lidded, lips parted, a fog settled over his thoughts and quieted their roar to a whisper.

     "You as bored as I am?" Shiro's bass voice thundered at the curve of his ear, quickening the pace of his heart in a lion's leap he feared would give him a heart attack, and then those hands.  _Those hands_  were on his shoulders and he could **feel** them drifting so agonizingly slowly he was already hyperventilating. Bored? Not anymore. More like eternally flustered. But this is their game and he played his part so well.

     What little self confidence he had he saved for these moments when he needed it most, summoned a presumptuous curve to his lips, a daring narrow of his eyes, turned to greet his idol and superior with what could have only been described as an outright challenge to his position.

     "Why, you got something better in mind?" The response he received was breathtaking. A wisp of a chuckle against the shell of his ear, heather irises narrowed in quiet acceptance.

     'This again?'

     God he was weak at the knees already, body trembling in that feather light grasp, and they buckled the instant a cold metal palm blazed ice and fire down forearm and pressed delicately to the arch of his abdomen. Was his leader aware just how easily a brush of a knuckle could destroy him still? Every brush of skin or steel just the same as it had been the first time, every sensation dredged up from the abyss of his most treasured memories at the sound of that voice. It was a wonder Keith survived this long. It was a wonder he survived at all.

     "Maybe. We could always hit the training deck. Strengthen our  _reaction_  time." The enunciation of the stressed word sent chills along the younger's spine, head tilted back to find support against a broad shoulder, breath halted in his throat as a metal digit tapped the syllables out against his clothed skin. Hollow thud as they were, the three thumps sent all the right signals southward, forced shut glittering hazels and hastening the need to fill his lungs. Desperate little puffs of air slipped out between tightly drawn lips.

     "Y-eah? Beat that simulator a hundred times, you've got some catching up to do  _old man_." The nickname was a personal favorite of theirs, well  _Keith's_ to throw around. Especially when Shiro retorted back with a loathsome-

     "Watch it  ** _cadet_** , I'm your senior officer, remember? How about a little  _respect_?" Shiro's voice was gravel against his neck, a landslide down a steep mountain gaining momentum faster and faster until the snap of his words shattered Keith's world, sent him reeling and his body lusting for every inch pressed tight to its perfect fit. Effortlessly he's cradled in those arms, let alone to stew in the aftermath of the command and wow who knew he had a thing for Shiro playing the boss card?

     He was almost at the pinnacle of the moment where he wouldn't be able to give two fucks less about appearances and his inhibitions have gone extinct when Shiro laughed. It cleared the dense cloud rattling around in his brain, urging him to do absolutely stupid things he'd never mention again and part of him was eternally grateful but the knit of his brows suggested he was in mourning. It's Shiro's loss, he told himself. Fucking idiot ruined the perfect moment to... Breathe. In, out. Patience yields... _frustration_.

     "Remember that CO you pissed off back at the garrison? He almost held you in a headlock until you passed out? He demanded that you respect him too, didn't he? But you were too quick." Far too quick. Like a cat. The Black Paladin hadn't been able to get it out of his mind for weeks to come. How easily he'd slipped through the giant's fingers, the way he'd dropped to his knees and slid beneath the ungainly thrust of hairy arms as they sought to reclaim him, back bowed into a perfect arc as hairy arms swooped down to reclaim him. He'd looked like a god damn rock star and Takashi hadn't been the same since. That was one of his  _least_ dignified moments and if he had to admit that he'd maybe been a little awe struck, it'd have to be at gunpoint.

     Though he could tell this story wasn't exactly the one that Keith was waiting to hear by the rigidity in muscles previously as soft as butter, a stubborn jut of his chin and a casual drift of those steely eyes in the opposite direction. He almost  _almost_ wanted to laugh at the petulance written across those subtle features and caught himself last minute, subdued the sound into something far less offensive that would again give him control of that mind and body.

     "You're wild. No one understands that better than  _I do_." A never ending source of frustration for some, a challenge to beat into submission for others, but Takashi? He'd rather watch the man  **burn** the world to the ground than make him fit the mold the world expects. No,  _no_ , that's not entirely true. His perception and thoughts are clouded, scattered and devoured by the lithe body pressing, shifting,  _grinding_ against him so deliciously he's slowly going mad. Wants... **needs** , but his hands fall to those hips and claw their way to bare skin, tugging taut jeans down far enough to expose the perfect jut of hip bones.

     "But I know what you really want. What you  _really_   **like**." And it's that purr that gets him  _every time_ , no matter  **what** he's saying. No matter how many times he says it. The inflection of desperation, raw hunger in the keening of his voice, there's no way in hell the Paladin can resist it. And he's  ** _right_**. Keith caves in his arms like a house of cards, hands fumbling to cover his, brows drawn together in defeat. But those gems he calls eyes are closed and Shiro wants to take advantage. Watch the play of emotions run rampant before the man has a chance to regain some semblance of sanity.

     "Keith..." It's his prayer he whispers to garner attention, watch those lips gravitate towards him to swallow whole anything he could ever say. Nothing could make this better. Nothing could be sweeter when timid lips press against his own, Keith's mewl of elation charming and reminiscent of the sounds he's capable of. The team isn't asleep and that means they have to be quiet. His room might be a ways off from the cockpit, but the Red Paladin has a voice and he certainly knows how to make one's efforts feel  **appreciated**.

     The flesh of his palm lowers substantially, grazes over those gorgeous jutting hips, feels the divot guiding ivory skin to a place where only Gods have no envy at having created him, and past the spread of his thighs to dig nails into a plush expanse of skin, possessive, ravenous, ready to feast like a glutton starved.

     "A-h...Shiro, wait..." The soft murmur reminds him this isn't about him, not entirely, there's another far more important being cradled in his arms waiting his turn to feel some semblance of serene bliss and it's the one thing he knows he can give endlessly. This isn't going to be quick and hectic and  _mind numbing_ like those few moments they could spare the energy between battles. What they want, collectively, they can finally share and take their sweet time with it.

     Keith turns in his arms, drawing a subtle groan from his lips however unbearably embarrassing it is and repays his whining with a kiss, tongue and teeth a mangled mess and sloppy, drawn out into eons and Shiro swears there's nothing that could ever make him give this up. Not until, at least, Keith's guiding him farther into the room, lips falling away, lacing his gloved fingers with his and urging him closer towards the bed. He knows that look so well it takes only a glance between them to understand. He doesn't (can't and won't, actually) fight the tug of his belt, the hook of a finger in the loop, the fang pulled loose from its niche, the wetting of those kiss-swollen lips.

     They shouldn't, he's going to hell if there is one, but the first flick of the flat of Keith's tongue undoes his will to move, lost helplessly in the glimmer of those eyes as they lock onto his own. He's a prisoner, caged between poised teeth ready to deal damage if he so much as thinks of breaking free, rough hills of the Paladin's taste buds grazing rivulets of ecstasy along his throbbing shaft. Shiro's lost in the sensation within seconds, vision blurring around thick lashes as they all but fall closed, hips an eager and slow thrust against the roof of the other's mouth. In truth, Keith's worse than his previous lovers at giving head. Too much teeth, too little saliva, he chokes on an inch and flinches at the taste every time but Shiro would rather Keith's be the only mouth that touches him ever again.

     "Hhh... _tss._ " The bite of a particularly sharp canine draws an unhappy hiss from his throat, jolting the younger Paladin from the tip of his cock with a sickeningly  **eroticly** wet  _pop_ and the lewd sound sends torrents of electricity through an unwitting man, heat blazing the bridge of his nose and darkening the scar carved from cheek to cheek.

     "Sorry, did it again didn't I?" Keith asks, vibrant eyes glossy as he soothes the reddening nicked flesh with a graze of his tongue, incapable of fighting back the smirk that flickers across his lips at the violent twitch of his leader's swollen cock in the palm of his hand. He wants it just as badly. Duly noted. Yet he's entirely caught of guard when a warm hand cradles his chin, drags his head back until he's staring at the ceiling of the bunk, dim glowing lights thrumming quietly around the border, lighting the darkened room. Somehow its easier to pretend this is a dream in the dark. That the hands tracing over the bob of his Adam's apple aren't  _really_   Shiro's, just a figment of his vague delusions. He's back at the garrison jerking off in his bunk to the thought of this very same scenario. He was better in those moments, didn't bite his superior officer's dick inadvertently. Thinking of it like that it's  **far** easier to let himself go, pretend they won't have to look each other in the face with a blank expression, like they couldn't hear the sound of their flesh screaming out their desperation as their hips slammed together in the janitor's closet, their muted sighs definitely not fresh in one's mind, the sting of nails as they dragged down tender skin.

     Shiro was fiercely possessive of the marks left behind, almost  _proud_ like a god damn man _should_ be. Keith never bothered to feel one way or another about it, but the memories they invoked...

     "Spread your legs a little, need to get your pants off." The gruff voice is thick in his ear again, doing things no sound on Earth or in Space had ever done to him before and he complies meekly, feels large hands traveling from his throat, brushing nail and palm against the perk of a nipple and tearing out a gasp he really shouldn't have uttered. There were far greater pleasures to come, and while he'd relished (absolutely  _adored_ really) the chaotic fucking they'd undertaken lately, there's something so incredibly intimate and perfect about the way the burn is slow. Maybe because he can focus more on the myriad of sensations washing over him rather than the unyielding thrust of nine inches being his sole concern and precisely how  **fast** those strokes were. But the gentle command has him complying meekly, subdued by the rhythmic brush of a broad thumb back and forth, back and forth, sending dull signals building steady foundations for everything he wanted  _right then_.

     He can hear the fabric fall, the belt buckle jingly softly in the silence against the titanium flooring, and Shiro's weight is gone. The biggest god damn tragedy of his young life right now, even as he feels hands trailing along his calves, spreading him wider, lifting his pale thighs higher and-

     " _Fuck_." He moans, fingers digging hard into the edge of the bed as a wet appendage burns slick heat across his shaft like the creep of lava spewing down a volcano's crust. It's hot as hell, deadly, and you know you shouldn't but you really want to push  _something_ in its path and watch it  **burn**. But just as quickly as it had sent him spiraling into a yearning almost unbearable, it's gone. _Shiro's_ gone. He can't feel those hands on him at all and with the glare of lights obscuring anything beyond the edge of the bed now, he can't even  _see_ him. Where...? It takes all of a heartbeat for him to sit up ready to fumble around stupidly until he can find the panel beside the door and discover where his lover's Houdini'd off to. Not that he ever has to wait long, a hand sliding back around his throat and urging him backwards, just the right amount of pressure to make his knees weak. There's power in that grip and Shiro could end his life in so many different ways but god those hands can work fucking miracles  _inside_ too.

     Proof when a slick finger finds his entrance, strokes lazy wide circles around, spreading whatever thick substance the other had managed to squirrel away on one of their missions. He's told him a thousand times before, he doesn't care how much it hurts. He's impatient and hard and delirious with adoration and all he wants is to feel that man buried inside him hitting all the sweet spots he never knew he had. At least one of them is better prepared. The sonance of laughter pierces through the awkward wait, fingers itching to claw his way back to that mouth so he can occupy his time, but Shiro's obviously got better things planned. Knows just how to keep him entertained long enough to get what he wants out of him. Two fingers graze against his lips, the weight on his neck lifting to press them in and Keith obliges despite the tang of salt and metal. Much better, he can practice on these two fingers and drive Shiro insane until the man  _has_ to cave. Can't hold out on him forever, right?

     Keith's thoughts of revenge are abruptly interrupted by the press of a finger inside of him, a cold metallic digit pressing knuckle deep and  _wiggling_. The sensation arches his back and he bites down on the pad of a ring finger, brows furrowing, gaze still trained on that vague shape lurking just beyond the dull glow of the nightlights. What he wants...what he really wants...it's taking too fucking long and he can't talk around the fingers filling his mouth, pressing down on his tongue. He's caught like a mouse in a trap, subjected to the whims of his captor who just so happens to be easing a second finger inside, spreading, shoving streams of slick substance deeper inside of him with each stroke. At least its warm. At least that mech arm is warming too. He puffs out indignantly, lifting a hand to trace the fingers slickened by his saliva, following it up the forearm and clawing his way to that shirt he knows is still covering rippling muscle. It's the last thing Shiro expects thankfully, and the man tears his hand away from Keith's mouth to catch himself. No need to crush the brunette before his time.

     "Fucking... _in_. Put it  **in** you're driving me fucking  ** _nuts_**." What Keith considers his best and deepest growl is nothing compared to the groan that tears through Shiro's chest. The vibrations alone substantial enough to travel from that godly body to the palm of Keith's hand and down his arm and he latches his leg around the other's waist, dragging him closer. Two fingers aren't nearly enough especially given how little time the Black Paladin had to prepare him, but the press of Keith's thigh, the cradling of his heat against his cock locked between them, he can't... He just  _can't_. It's over. Game's up. They've both been broken but it's still salvageable.

     "Take a deep slow breath, let it out. Don't hold it in." Mumbled against the curve of Keith's jaw, Shiro wraps his slick artificial digits around himself, steadying the head of his cock as it slipped down, searching for that perfect place to swallow him whole again. It's not as difficult as it was before, less embarrassing, and with a gentle nudge to sit in place, he grasps Keith's thigh, lifting it to push inch by inch. As expected, Keith's entire body tenses around the intrusion, a look of abject horror crossing his face at the agony of being torn apart and a certain little saying pops to the tip of his tongue.

      _I told you so_.

     It's evident on his face when he leans over the cadet, relinquishing his punishing grip on pliable thighs to press human and mech palm to the mattress on either side of the brunette's head. The baleful look shot back at him only broadens his smugness, gaze lidded, lips lowering to claim Keith's before he lets out a loud profanity Shiro can  **feel** coming. Though he keeps the pace slow and even. Nice and steady. Letting the poor boy adjust in his own due time, focusing less on how fucking  _tight_ he is and how eager that body had always been to be pinned beneath him taking the  **brunt** of his frustrations until their bodies ached and focusing more on the sweet taste at the brush of a tongue, the gentle bite of a canine against his lip or the beginnings of ecstatic moans building between them.

     Keith takes every roll of his hips as he pushes deeper until he's fully sheathed inside, the subtle sound of wet skin peeling apart to snap back together at a breakneck snails pace heightening the desire to fuck him senseless. Can't. Not today. Today it's about wasting time the best way they know how and it all becomes worth it when Keith's head tilts back. That throat opens up and a choked moan sidles forth, encouraging Shiro's swollen lips to find an ear, suckle gently, leave quick-fading marks along his neck while his warm hand slips between them to stroke the torturously forgotten cock brushing against his abdomen with each thrust.

     "D-on't- hnn..." Keith whines. His voice is little more than a rasp and his eyes have all but closed, target-locked on Shiro as he traces unintelligible symbols in the precome pooling between them. The elder is weak for that plea, foregoing the childish urge to brush him on the off chance that he might actually reach his climax way before his senior officer can. It's enough for now to feel that body convulsing around his cock, each inch buried within him greedy for another taste and reciprocated in kind with the desperate clench of muscles on his withdraw. If the dig of nails into his shoulders are anything to go by, they're not far off the mark and Shiro isn't ready to give this up yet. Not this quick. Not again. In a split second decision he's buried hilt deep, frozen above the contorted expression of his lover, breath a huff of air in his lungs not nearly enough to fill his need for oxygen, and he  **almost** whines  _himself_.

     "Shiro...don't...don't stop,  _please_ for fuck's sake  _ **don't stop**_." Keith pants right back at him and leverages his legs wrapped around the man to drag him... _where_ exactly? He's already as deep as he can go and it frustrates the poor Paladin endlessly, throat bobbing with stifled sounds. Shiro may or may not  _really_ like watching the poor man squirm helplessly beneath him but he isn't a cruel monster (despite his darkest thoughts) and before any more complaints are made at him, the Black Paladin disentangles himself from the throng of limbs, pulling out to roughly roll his prize over, watch the liquid splattered over the round backside glisten in the lustrous lighting. He's perfect and beautiful and there's something so incredibly fucking sexy about the way those eyes are peering over his shoulder, brows knit in confusion at the sudden change. He's definitely not waiting to sink back against the stretch of that body, trace digits through the mess he'd made between perfect hills. Precisely where he's guiding himself back in, shuddering at the resistance and mouthing prayers into the space between Keith's shoulder blades.

     "Fuck... _so good_..." It's Keith's voice spoken as Shiro's thoughts mimicked the shock widening gray eyes as he whirls to find the younger man's eyes closed, mouth agape, breath misting in the cold air. His body's so warm Shiro almost forgot that the room's heat hadn't kicked on. Delving down to taste the shell of an ear, release a rumbling purr of satisfaction into the hollow, hips snapping just a little harder, a hand extending out to lace their fingers together, the other grasping for that throat again, lifting his head.

     "Gonna...come soon." It's a trickling feeling now, right there encouraging him to fuck harder, deeper, faster, mark skin with teeth and nails and push hips down, ass up, fill him with everything he's got coming but he fights against the desire, steadies out his stuttering pace again, and he burrows his face against the crook of the Red Paladin's neck. Shit shit shit. So close too soon and he hasn't even had the chance to hear Keith properly. Too focused on the feeling of that body taking him in but something whispers in his ear. A voiceless sound impossible to describe and scattered, flickering in one ear, out the other, sending currents of violent heat along his nerve endings. It's vaguely familiar like...like... _oh you have got to be shitting him_. Eyes closed, he reaches out in the ephemeral, seizes hold of that incessant noiseless buzzing, and his mind explodes with the sensations of his partner, drowning out any semblance of thought and control.

     It's in the throes of ecstasy when the border between humans and beasts are blurred and this  _connection_ formed through the careful guidance of their alien hosts is definitely  _not_ meant to be used like this but it adds a new level to the experience that no one else in the world will ever know. Shiro's mind goes blank and all he can feel is the press of that lithe body against his own, smell the heady musk of sweat and fluids, a vague hint of his cologne laced in the sheets, and the sweet sound of his song bird mewling beneath him, begging him for more with a mouth to make a sailor blush. A shift in the boy's thigh directs him an inch to the left, striking a chord in his body that has both of them seeing white, Shiro second handedly enjoying the strange phenomenon of his lover's orgasm and subsequently thrust headfirst over that impossible cliff in response, the sharp jerk of his body into the small frame curling the brunette's toes.

     The racy scent of Keith's orgasm lay thick in the air as Shiro collapsed in a sweating heap atop the exposed back, lips pressing sloppy kisses into the bend of his spine, chest heaving with the need for air. An elbow slams into his side, catching him so far off guard he wheezes and struggles to pull out and flop on his side to defend himself. He's successful in rolling out of the danger zone when Keith whirls on him with polished eyes, a dusting of pink across his nose, and short puffs of breath in between his gentle laughter.

     "Couldn't...breathe...you  _brute_. You aren't exactly _feather weight,_ 'champion'." Synapses in his brain somehow connected the reference to something  **other** than his days spent as a space gladiator for the sick amusement of blood thirsty freaks, and he covers his mouth to laugh.

     "Thought you liked it hard and heavy." A wiggle of metal fingers and Keith dissolves into snickering buried in the scent of soiled sheets and sweat.


End file.
